


Fantasia on a White Night

by acommontater



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: August Rush Inspired, Canon Compliant, Gen, M/M, Why Victor's Parents Are Missing In Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-23 12:31:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23711557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acommontater/pseuds/acommontater
Summary: Viktor never planned to be famous, he just wanted to be found.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri & Victor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Victor Nikiforov & Original Character(s)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 60





	Fantasia on a White Night

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this has taken nearly two years and fifty pages, but I finally have an ending I can jive with so here it goes! I had a lovely beta last year, but I have unfortunately forgotten who it was/their username if you see this and it was you please lmk so I can credit you accordingly!
> 
> This is loosely inspired by the movie August Rush (which was loosely based on Oliver Twist), but you don't need to have seen it to read this. Normally I am a stickler for detail and historical accuracy, but I'm working with the YOI-verse so I kinda hand-waved a lot of potential geopolitical sticking points.
> 
> Cheers!

Viktor never planned to be famous, he just wanted to be found.

/

The orphanage in St. Petersburg is small, but they have a warm place to stay and food to eat, if precious else, so there is little use in complaining. Some of the other kids cry because they miss their parents and Viktor feels sorry for them. _He_ knows that his parents are out there, looking for him.

(This rock-solid belief does not earn him many friends in a home of left-behind children.)

In the winter they go skating and Viktor loves it because he gets hot chocolate and to feel like he is flying.

This changes in 1998 when he watches with wide eyes as men and women spin and flip around the ice in more complicated ways than he has ever seen.

“People all over the world are watching this tonight.” Tyotya Grinkova, the matron of the house tells him.

Viktor decides then and there that he must do the same. Tyotya Grinkova tells him it will be hard to do that because only the best of the best gets to go to the Olympics. Viktor revises his goal- he will be the best _ever_.

And then _he_ will be on the television around the world and surely _then_ his parents will see him and remember to come back for him.

/

[June, 1989]

Nadezhda Vasilyeva finishes the last dramatic pose with gusto, the music leaving an eternal second of silence before the audience leaps to their feet as they applaud. She lets the curtain fall before rising and letting the corps take their bows before she steps forward last and lets the roar of the audience engulf her.

She wishes these moments could last forever.

The party her friend drags her too is loud and there are too many strangers packed into too small a house. She finds herself up on the cold roof for peace and quiet, sighing in relief as she sits and stares up at the faint stars. The White Nights are both a time she loves and despises- she gets to perform to full houses, with some of the best audiences they get, but it is also exhausting, grueling work. The roof has a good view of the Palace Bridge and its lights, and she watches the little boats trundle along the water idly.

“Too much for you too?” a voice says.

She jumps as a man sits down next to her, offering her a bottle of water.

“I was sitting over there, but you looked like you could use some company. I’m Nikolas.”

She regards him for a moment as he holds out his hand- he has dark hair, bright blue eyes, a broad friendly smile, and seems charming. She decides for this night, in her triumph, to let herself be charmed. She takes his hand.

“I’m Nadya.”

They clamber up to the very top of the roofing over the stairwell, over looking the still-bright city. Nikolas sweeps a hand out.

“It’s beautiful, but it always makes me a bit sad, these nights.”

“Why?”

“It’s a bit silly but, I miss the moon.” He laughs, ducking his head. “I used to talk to it as a kid.”

“Did it ever talk back?” Nadya asks softly.

Nikolas lifts his head to look at her, his bright eyes searching her face, before he gives her a slow, easy smile. Nadya feels her heart stutter.

A sudden cheer goes up from down below and the bridge suddenly starts breaking apart to allow for the magnificent flotilla of boats to start making their way through.

“Shit.” Nadya says. “My apartment is on the other side.”

“Guess we’re both stuck here for a few hours then.”

They sit and talk, pleasantly surprised at how easily the conversation flows. Nikolas is a pianist from Moscow, in town to play with his cousin’s band. Later, she remembers the conversations, and how soft his lips are when they kiss.

/

[September 1999]

When Viktor is almost ten he is noticed by a scout at the local rink.

He is focusing hard and trying to land a jump like he saw on tv. The strange man asks him where he learned to skate, and Viktor tells him here and that he was just trying to do what he saw on the tv.

The stranger is very impressed and asks where his parents are. Viktor points out Tyotya Grinkova. The two adults talk for a long time, watching him skate. Viktor tries to show his best skating off. Eventually Tyotya Grinkova calls him over.

“Vitya, this man looks for children who might become the best skaters. He thinks that you could do well at his school, would you want to go?”

Viktor thinks.

“Is it a skating school?”

“Yes. You would have to show one of the coaches there your skating before they would let you go, would you want that?”

“Will they teach me how to become the best?”

“Yes, this is where all of the very best go.”

“Then yes.” Viktor decides. “I want to go.”

(Viktor asks Tyotya Grinkova if she’s heard anything from them every day, until she snaps at him for bothering her as she watches the news. There are burning buildings on the screen, but it says they are in Moscow, so Viktor cannot understand why she won’t answer him when he is _here_. Maybe, he thinks, maybe he wasn’t as good a skater as he thought he was. Maybe the coach changed his mind. He doesn’t ask again.)

/

[June, 1989]

Nadya and Nikolas are woken up by Nikolas’ very loud cousins spraying them with champagne. Nadya screams and Nikolas yells at them to leave and they tumble back out the doorway, guffawing.

Nadya hastily gathers up her clothes. Nikolas gently grabs her wrist.

“Hey, you can stay, I’m sorry about those idiots, they don’t mean any harm...”

She nods, shoving her shoes on.

“I know, but I really have to go- I’m going to be late for a meeting.”

“Can I see you again?”

“Yes- meet me out by the bridge later? On the other side?”

He grins and pulls her in for another kiss. “Of course.”

She smiles at him and then runs out the door, trying to finger-comb her hair into something respectable.

//

Viktor is ten when the house gets their yearly visit from their agent.

Mr. Nikolai Plisetksy is a broad man with wrinkles and the beginnings of a full dedushka beard on his face. Viktor likes him well enough- he usually brings a tray of something he baked along with him to share, which makes him popular with the other boys.

Viktor gets called down for his meeting and sighs. He plops down onto the chair across the table from Mr. Nikolai Gregorivich, who looks at him over the top of his crescent shaped reading glasses. Viktor sighs again and sits up straight.

“How are you today, Viktor?”

“Fine. I have homework.”

“Difficult work?”

“No, I just have math left, so it’s easy.”

“Ah, of course. Anything fun?”

“I talked to the moon last night, she’s very helpful with math.”

Nikolai chuckles at Viktor’s serious expression.

“What else do you like to do other than math and talking to the moon?”

“I like to dance, and I like to skate.”

“Both excellent activities to pursue.” Nikolai sighs a little. “Viktor, you know why I am here, yes?”

Viktor nods, shifting a little and staring out the window.

“You’re nearly eleven, Viktor. Are you interesting in looking at some families?”

“I have parents.” He stares very hard at the window. It’s starting to snow outside.

Nikolai Gregorivich sighs.

“Yes, you have parents. Somewhere out there, as all people do. But wouldn’t it be nice to have a home with a family all to yourself?”

“No.” Viktor says. “I have to stay here.” His hands are clasped tightly in his lap and he stares determinedly out at the snow.

Mr. Nikolai Gregorivich sets him papers down and leans forward, his face kind.

“Viktor, it is very common for people to want to stay where they are, because they are scared that if they leave, they will never be found. Now, my job is to make sure that doesn’t happen. If your parents come, I have these papers here- see?- to let me know where you are. I wouldn’t let you get lost.”

Viktor’s chin wobbles against his will.

“Okay, Viktor?”

Viktor nods.

“Will you think about looking at some nice people who would love a son?”

“Okay. I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I ask for. Good luck, Viktor.”

He shakes Viktor’s small hand with his big one and pats him firmly on the back as he leaves.

//

[June, 1989]

Nadya is late for a meeting with her father, who does double duty as her manager.

“Sorry for being late, papa, traffic.”

He just nods and curses the city congestion. He tells her there’s an amazing opportunity for her that he just got a call about- the Paris ballet called and offered her an audition, but they must leave immediately.

“What?”

“I know it’s sudden, but this is a great opportunity!”

“Why didn’t you ask me first?”

“Darling, I’m just doing what’s best for you. Would you have said no?”

“No, I just... I had plans later and…”

“Well, they’re cancelled now, the car will be here with our bags at any minute.”

“What?”

“Ah, there it is right now, let’s go.”

Dazed, she lets herself be led out to the car, looking around without really seeing anything.

/

Nikolas is walking down to the bridge when he sees Nadya across the street. He grins and jumps up and down waving, trying to catch her attention across the traffic.

“Hey! Nadya! You’re early too!”

She looks around and he waves harder. Another man appears behind her and ushers her into the car in front of them. Nikolas lets his arms drop. The car pulls away and his heart leaves with it.

// 

The only person Viktor really considers a friend is Georgi, Tyotya Grinkova’s son.

They are only a day apart in age and Georgi is the only one who will stick up for Viktor. He’s as much a target as Viktor is, because he cries easily, and the older boys like that about as much as they like Viktor’s long hair and love of figure skating instead of hockey. One winter, for their as-good-as-shared birthdays, they are given videos of two ballets.

“Good Russian music.” Tyotya Grinkova says. “Maybe you will find music for your skating in these.”

They watch with starry eyes in Georgi’s room and help each other imitate the dances they see on the screen. The lead ballerina in Viktor’s copy has him particularly enamored- she has white blonde hair like him. He makes Georgi dance the part of her partner because he has the same dark hair and because Georgi loves playing the part of a prince. It’s wonderful, for a while.

Georgi is sent away to boarding school when they are eleven- a school for skaters in Moscow. Viktor has never travelled so far away in his life. They have the same dream of skating one day and Viktor swallows his horrible jealousy and tries to be happy for Georgi. He trains himself and works with the coach at the local rink, but he has already taught Viktor almost all he can. Viktor must wait before he can follow Georgi’s footsteps. Patience was always a bitter virtue for Viktor. They exchange letters when they remember to.

/

When Viktor is twelve, he wins his division in every local event he enters, learns how to fight, and what types of makeup hide bruises and stay on through sweat.

At the end of his final event, a coach approaches him. He appraises Viktor with an unreadable expression. Viktor juts his chin out and stares back. The coach raises his eyebrows and lets out a huff at the sight of the tiny boy with his chin-length silvery hair and fading black eye trying to stare him down. He holds out his hand instead.

“I am Coach Yakov Feltsman, I only take the best. You have potential, Viktor Neizvestny. You could go far, if you want it.”

“I want it. I’m going to be the best skater ever.” Viktor tells him.

Yakov is taken aback by the force behind it.

“Well, you will have to work very hard to do that. Are you going to work hard and not be lazy?”

“Yes.” Viktor’s eyes are steely.

“Where are your parents?”

“I haven’t found them yet.” Viktor says. “But the matron of my house is over there.”

He points. He is offered a spot for a season, on probation, to train with the best skaters in the country. (He will not train with Yakov Feltsman, not yet.)

“You will have to move out.” Tyotya Grinkova tells him.

“Good.” Viktor says simply.

(Tyotya Grinkova pretends not to cry when she sees him off on the train and Viktor pretends like he doesn’t see, but he hugs her tightly and leans up to kiss her on the cheek before he boards the train.)

/

[Summer, 1989, Paris]

“Stop, stop!”

Nadya picks herself up off the ground, frustrated, as the choreographer taps his foot impatiently. She’s been falling out of positions and spins for two weeks now and knows that she’s on thin ice with the company.

“Miss Vasilyeva, go home for today.”

The other dancers go quiet and Nadya flushes with humiliation, hastily grabbing her bag and exiting the studio. She changes quickly, shoving her things into her bag without her usual care. She goes to the resident physician instead of home. Something is wrong, she can feel it- her sense of balance has never been so off, and she feels exhausted in a way she hasn’t since her school years. At first, she’d thought it was just adapting to a new place and new people, but now she isn’t sure. The doctor is unimpressed as she describes her symptoms. He sighs and walks her through some tests.

“A common ailment, madame, but seldom one young dancers want congratulating on.”

“What?”

“You’re pregnant, Nadya. Somewhere within the first couple months, I’d say.”

Nadya sits down, dazed, a hand coming up to cover her stomach. A baby? She thinks back to Nikolas’ kind smile and blue eyes. She thinks about the stress of the company, the move, performing, and suddenly feels giddy with relief. A baby- someone small and sweet and loving, all to herself.

She smiles at the doctor.

“Thank you.”

/

Her father rushes to Paris as soon as she calls.

“Oh, my darling, we can have this taken care of, don’t worry, I have contacts and…”

“What?”

“Your career is in danger, but don’t worry I can handle everything. You can take the week off, say you have the flu or something, and be back right as rain.”

“What do you mean? I’m keeping the baby, papa.”

He freezes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean what I said, I’m keeping the baby. I’ll be a mother, you’ll be a grandpapa with a grandbaby to spoil. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“It would mean everything we’ve worked for your entire life is gone, Nadya.”

“Then it’s gone.” she says simply.

It’s the greatest relief she has ever felt in her life.

/

She goes back to St. Petersburg to try and find Nikolas that autumn. She spends hours sitting by the bridge, hoping against hope that she’ll see him in the crowd, unknowing that he had done the same all summer.

//

Viktor is thirteen when he skates in the gala after winning his first Junior Nationals medal. He comes in third and knows he can do better. He is impatient for his body to match where he knows he can go as much as he fears the changes ahead.

(His parents do not find him that year, third place doesn’t get as much coverage as the winners, so he resolves next season to never get that spot on the podium again. It will be several seasons before he makes good on that promise.)

//

[December, 1989]

She meets with her Papa for lunch when he visits Paris. They have a perfectly nice meal, until he brings up her career again.

“It’s not too late, you know, you could still come back after the baby.” he tries. “We could still…”

“Stop! Just stop it!” She shouts finally, slamming her utensils back onto the table. “What about what I want, papa? Why can’t I have this, this one thing that I finally want more than anything?”

“You want to dance, darling, it’s what you’ve always wanted. I just want what you want.”

“Clearly, you don’t.”

“Nadya…” He sighs.

“No, no, papa. I can’t… I can’t even look at you right now. I just want you to be happy for me for once, but you can’t even manage that.”

Nadya stands and grabs her coat, angry tears welling in her eyes as she walks out of the restaurant. She can hear her father calling after her, but ignores him, stepping out to cross the street.

She doesn’t see the car.

/

Nadya wakes up to the pale, sterile walls of a hospital. Groggily, she blinks her eyes and sees her father in the chair next to her bed. He starts as she shifts a little.

“Nadya! Oh, thank God.”

She stares at him, a hand automatically going to her stomach which is… flat. And sore. She reaches for the bassinet by her bed, but her father gently takes her hand, his eyes watery.

“Nadya, I’m so sorry. He’s gone.”

Her world stops. She pulls her hand back, numb, before curling in on herself to mourn the little boy she’d never get to know.

//

When Viktor is fourteen, he finds a familiar face at the rink when he gets there for a summer camp.

“Georgi?”

The other boy looks up sharply then he smiles widely and quickly pulls Viktor into a hug.

“Vitya! How have you been? Congratulations on your season!”

Georgi’s chatter quickly fills Viktor in on the last few years of his life since they’d seen each other.

It’s nice to have someone he thinks of as an actual friend to work with every day.

He and Georgi get to perform with the other rising Junior skaters at a show during one of the summer festivals and it is terribly exciting. Apparently one of the musicians performing with them is an old small-time punk rock band that Georgi has a small obsession with, and he is beside himself that the group is reuniting for the show. Viktor laughs at him and is excited for his friend.

When they get to rehearsals Georgi manages to convince Viktor to approach the band with him, too star-struck to do it on his own. They approach the stage after they are done practice with their group, still in their skates, Georgi clutching one of the band’s albums. The pianist is still sitting there as the other members and the stagehands discuss what they need or pack cords and instruments up.

“Excuse me?” Viktor calls out. The man sitting at the piano bench looks up from where he’d been absently playing through a piece. He smiles at them. Viktor thinks he has a kind face.

“Hello there, what’s up?”

Viktor looks at Georgi to say something, but Gosha is hugging the cd case to his chest and staring with wide eyes. Viktor elbows him.

“My friend here is a big fan of you all and was hoping you’d sign his album.”

The man laughs and walks over to the edge of the stage. Georgi holds out his cd case and marker silently but manages to stammer out his name when the pianist asks him.

“Nice to meet you, Georgi Popovich. I’m Nikolas Ivanovich. And you are?” Nikolas asks, looking at Viktor.

“Viktor Neizvestny.” He says. Georgi puts an arm around his shoulder proudly.

“Viktor and I are going to be the best skaters in Russia!”

“The best ever.” Viktor corrects. Nikolas chuckles.

“Is that so? Let me see what you can do then!” Nikolas stands and passes Georgi’s cd case off to another member with instructions to get is signed and back to the boys. He sits at the keyboard and looks at them with a raised eyebrow. Viktor immediately rises to the challenge. He yanks off his skate guards and pulls Georgi with him back onto the ice. When they get to the center ice, he waves at Nikolas imperiously to begin. Over the speakers, a classical piano piece trickles across the ice and Viktor lets himself get lost in the motion of the music- no sequences to remember, just freely flowing along with the music.

He comes to a stop with the music, breathing hard, suddenly aware of the world again. Georgi and Nikolas clap and he bows cheekily. He and Georgi make their way back to the stage. Nikolas shakes their hands and gives Georgi back his now-signed cd case.

“It is an honor to play for the future best figure skaters in the world.” He says. “But it looks like you have some people waiting for you, good luck in the show tomorrow!”

“What was the piece you played?” Viktor demands, as Georgi darts off to join Yakov in waiting over by the rink. Nikolas writes down the composer and title for him.

“Why did you play that piece?” Viktor asks. Nikolas looks surprised.

“I… You remind me of someone I met once, years ago. She had hair like yours. That piece always makes me think of her.”

“You miss her.” Viktor observes. Nikolas smiles at him.

“Good luck, Viktor Neizvestny. You have a gift, don’t be afraid of it.” Nikolas says seriously as he hands him the paper. Viktor nods and runs off before Yakov really blows his lid.

(Viktor doesn’t use the piece [1] until years later, after his fall that has people speculating if he will be able to return at all, if the younger skaters will pass him by as he recovers. He is only twenty. His sweeping dreamy short program contrasts nicely with his bold and brassy long program and he bares his teeth in a smile as he holds his gold Worlds medal that season.)

/

“So, Viktor.” Yakov Feltsman says to him one day. “You are fourteen, a young man, what would you like your name to be?”

“What do you mean?”

“You cannot build a legacy on borrowed names. You told me you wanted to be the best in the world.”

“The best ever.” Viktor corrects.

“Yes. If you work hard you might be. But what name would you like attached to that legacy?”

Viktor thinks. He has had many borrowed names over the years- some cruelly given, others lent out of kindness, but never truly one of his own. He thinks of the royals that came before that they are studying in history- they were awful, Viktor knows the waste and ruin they brought- but he can't help but wish for a little bit of that extravagance for himself. He practices saying different names for himself in the mirror, to see which ones might fit.

“Nikiforov.” he says after a few days.

(Romanov, while bold and rich, he thinks would be too daring.)

“Victor Nikiforov.” Yakov says. “A big name for a small man. But a good name for a history to be made with.”

Victor grins.

/

Viktor and Georgi rise through the ranks together.

Viktor pushes and pushes until two decades have gone by and he has won everything there is to win and he still feels empty.

//

[Summer 2016]

Nadya’s now-former roommate teases her sometimes for being a dance teacher who doesn’t dance. Sometimes she will play on her cello and Nadya will dance along, simple steps and turns, but that is as close as she gets to a true performance these days, outside of demonstrating for her classes.

Her father is sick, in the hospital.

Nadya hates seeing him like this. They’d had a terrible few years after that day in Paris, but they had mostly mended their relationship in the more than two decades that had since passed. She sets the flowers she’d brought on the table and taps his shoulder. “Hey.” Her father opens his eyes. It seems to take him a great effort.

“Ah, Nadya, my love.” He seems conflicted. She pulls up a chair, taking his hand. He sighs. “Nadya, I don’t have much time left…”

“Papa, don’t be silly.”

“No, Nadya. I… I cannot go without telling you. You should know, and I am sorry. So sorry. I thought it was for the best.”

“What?” He gestures to a folder sitting on the table next to his bed. She opens it to find a sheaf of medical papers.

“Papa, what is this?” He is silent.

She flips through the papers, stilling when she gets to a birth certificate in French.

A little boy, born on December 25th, 1989, healthy and alive. A short sheaf of parental release forms and adoption papers in French and Cyrillic follows it.

Her hands shake.

“Papa, _what is this_?”

“I thought I was doing what was best for you.”

“You… gave him up? You just… took my baby away from me?” She feels sick. “I need to go, I need to… I need to _find_ him, oh God.”

“He was placed with come cousins in the Ukraine, but-“ He pauses to cough weakly. “I think they moved to Piter shortly after.”

She gives her father one last horrified look before fleeing the hospital room.

//

Viktor uproots his life and flies to Japan.

(He’d never quite given up hope that he might meet his parents one day, but let it die down from the fervent desire he’d had as a child. He has other things to live for now. Viktor looks at the frozen frame of the viral video he’d watched too many times to count before putting it in his pocket and kissing his coach on the cheek as he boards the airplane.)

//

[Interlude – Nikolas]

It takes ten years, countless juggled side-jobs drifting through various countries, and a broken engagement before Nikolas touches his keyboard seriously again.

He’s never stopped playing, even after the band had broken up, but he’d stopped playing for himself, for the truest love of music he had. The beginnings of a melody float in the back of his mind, and he lets it be for the time being.

He goes back to the beginning, to old favorites- The Well-Tempered Clavier, Chopin, Liszt, Shubert, Rachmaninov… it’s as if the energy he’s been lacking to play for the last decade comes back with a vengeance all at once. He plays day and night, until his back and fingers ache with it. It’s the most satisfied he’s been in years.

He takes a temporary gig in Paris, subbing in as an accompanist for a ballet studio for a few weeks. The usual accompanist and the Ballet Master are both out of the studio for the time, but the madame in charge of rehearsals seems glad enough to have him there to play for the little ballerinas that fill the room.

Nikolas is early for classes one day, and finds himself sitting in the small waiting room, staring at the posters on the wall. One at the end catches his eye and he walks over to study it.

A ballerina is posed _en pointe_ in an extended arabesque, smiling up and away from the camera, her arms swept up into elegant arches, framing the way her hair is wreathed in delicate jewelry with white gems to match her gauzy dress. ‘Stars of the White Nights!’ the poster proclaims, the festival dates listed at the bottom along with the headliner names and soloists. He stops, staring.

_Principal Soloist -_ _Nadezhda Vasilyeva_

He looks back to the dancer in the picture, looking closer. He can still feel how the curve of her cheekbone and angle of her jaw fit under his palm. His hand shakes as he lifts it as if to touch the glass over her face, but he lets it drop before he leaves a smudge. Why was this poster of Nadya here?

The boisterous sound of children arriving breaks his trance, and a pair of little ballerinas nearly knocks into him as they chatter down the hall to the studio.

“Pardon, Monsieur Panin!” One of them says, singsong.

“Are you looking at the pictures of Mme. Vasilyeva?” the other says, peeking around him to look at the poster too. “Isn’t she the prettiest?”

“Yes, very pretty.” He says.

“I miss her, I hope she comes back soon.” The first tiny dancer says with a sigh.

“This is your teacher?” Nikolas says, trying not to reveal his shock.

“Yes, but she’s gone right now. So is Ms. Satitie, on honeymoon.” She scrunches her face.

A voice calls down the hall and the little ballerinas scamper off with a quick goodbye.

Nikolas stands where he is for a long moment before turning and following them to the studio.

A honeymoon, a honeymoon, a honeymoon, echoes in his head to the beat of the mindless warmup chord progressions.

That evening he sits and writes down the melody that had been haunting him, adding and improvising around it as he plays, tinkering for hours until he’s satisfied. It builds slowly, almost fugal, before suddenly bursting into a joyous and tumultuous section, then meandering, lost, before slowly coming back to the original melody, with a slight melancholy to it. He ends it on a light, bright, hopeful chord in his right hand, letting it fade out gently.

He debates for a long time about the title, before firmly filing it away.

He applies for and returns to university for his next degree by the fall.

 _Fantasy on a White Night, for Nadya_ , stays firmly packed away.

//

[2014 – Nikolas]

He’s just finished emailing the department head back when Ketty knocks on his office door, a slight boy with glasses standing uncomfortably behind her.

“Hello, Katrina, who is this you’ve brought?”

“This is my friend Yuuri Katsuki, the skater I told you about! He’s a sports medicine and Russian major. He wants me to write a piece for him to use next season, and we have a start, but I wanted your help.” She turns to her friend. “Yuuri, this is Doctor Panin, my piano professor.”

Yuuri Katsuki bows politely to him, before extending a hand for him to shake.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Yuuri says, in formal Russian. Nikolas raises his eyebrows as he shakes his hand.

“You as well, Mr. Katsuki.” He responds, before switching back to English. “What is it you need help with, Ketty?”

Ketty starts to fill him in on the outlines- the piece can only last for so long, she would like to do a more classical style to emphasis Yuuri’s ballet background, they’re going back and forth about what the inspiration should be…- Nikolas listens and nods and watches for where Yuuri winces during Ketty’s pitch.

He does his best to guide her and Yuuri in the right direction and thinks they end with a fairly productive meeting.

A couple months later, Ketty slouches in for her lesson with a sigh.

“You cannot play Mozart with such a sour face, Ketty.” He says as she scowls at her hands halfway through the second movement of the piece.

“Yuuri decided not to use the piece I wrote.” She says.

“Ah, it was not what he wanted?”

“No, it was, he just said he and his coach decided to go in another direction for the season, and he was really apologetic about it, but. Ugh. It feels like all that work went to waste.”

“No work is wasted, is just practice. Maybe you use it as foundation for some other great piece in the future. For now, we go back to the great pieces that are our foundation.” He taps the score in front of her.

Ketty sighs, but nods, the disappointment she’d brought in with her dissipating.

/

[2016 – Nadya]

Nadya goes thought months and months of tracking down her son across international lines until she feels like crying from frustration. Her son, born in France, adopted to family in the Ukraine, who moved to Russia, where it seems they became ill and died. Their children had become part of the system, including her son, who would have been barely three. (She cannot picture him in her mind’s eye- just the form of him that would have been, so small and fragile. Her heart aches.)

Nadya arrives at the government building in St. Petersburg before it opens and waits on the steps, clutching her coffee to warm her hands.

A woman approaches the office, looking at a folder in her hand, and Nadya stands.

“Please, are you a worker here? Who keeps track of the children?”

The woman looks up at her, tired and brusk.

“Why do you ask?”

“I’m looking for my son.”

“I’m sorry miss, we cannot give out information about children in the system.” Her voice seems weary, as if she has said those words too many times. “If you have a court date, then you need to talk to your attorney or appeal the judge and then-”

“He isn’t in the system anymore; he’d be grown now.” Nadya interrupts. “Please, he wasn’t supposed to end up there, I… didn’t even know he was alive until this year and I’ve been going through three different countries to try and find him.”

The woman sighs.

“Please, I just want to know his name. Anything you can tell me, I am desperate.” Nadya’s voice breaks.

The social worker sighs. “It will be difficult, especially because your son is no longer in our system. How old would he be?”

“Twenty-seven years, 332 days, fourteen hours, and ten minutes. I’ve been counting.” She says sheepishly.

The social worker stares at her for a long moment.

“Alright miss, I’ll take a look, but I can’t promise anything.” She steps out. A cheer goes up from the cubicle across the room. Nadya looks over and a sheepish employee points the television in the corner.

“Sorry, it’s the Rostelecom Cup right now. I’m catching up on last night’s events.”

“What’s that?”

“You don’t know?”

Nadya shakes her head, stepping closer.

“Figure skating. This was the men’s short program, the skater I was rooting for did well.”

Nadya looks on with interest. She’d known some fellow dancers who’d helped skaters in the past and had helped out some local choreographers and skaters at her studio.

“Who are you rooting for?”

“Well, the Russians of course, but also Katsuki Yuuri- he caused a scandal earlier this year because Russia’s top skater all but retired to become his coach instead of competing this year. But I’ve always been a fan of Viktor Nikiforov, so it seems a shame not to root for him as a coach too. Oh, that’s them now.”

Nadya looks at the tv changes from commercials to two men sitting next to each other, a large panel of logos behind them. A young man with shock of dark hair looks surprised as the numbers for a score pop up below him. The man sitting next to him cheers and pulls him into a tight hug before dropping suddenly and kissing the other man’s skate. The social worker who’d been watching gapes.

“I guess that’s unusual?” Nadya asks drily. The social worker just nods silently, still staring.

The social worker who’d been helping her returns then and Nadya turns away from the screen.

“Here, this is the contact information for the head office in Moscow where they might have information. We only keep more localized records of adoptions here. Good luck.”

Nadya thanks them and leaves to buy a train ticket to the city.

/

Several hours away, in the same city, Viktor Nikiforov unexpectedly boards a plane to travel halfway around the world again.

//

[2016- Nikolai]

To say Moscow is cold in the winter is like saying the ocean is a little wet. Nikolai Plisetsky grumbles and tucks his scarf a little tighter around his neck as he gets out of his truck with his box of treats.

He is greeted with smiles and jovial welcomes in the office as he walks through to the side breakroom. He catches up with some of the older workers as a rush of people comes to get some of the his vatrushka, some whispered squabbles breaking out over wanted flavors that Nikolai privately chuckles at.

He’s answering some questions for Vitaly Alexandreivich when there’s a distant knock and a woman’s voice calling out a questioned greeting. A few of the social workers groan or pull faces and even good-natured Vitaly sighs heavily.

“She’s back again.”

“Who is back?” Nikolai asks.

“This woman who is looking for her son. But he is not in the system anymore, as he would be a grown man. She insists on coming here every other weekend from Paris to ask us again for information, but we cannot do anything until her son responds and allows for access to his records. And he has apparently been out of the country for the past year now, so who knows when he will answer the letter.” Vitaly rubs his forehead. “Have you ever had such a situation when you worked here, Nikolai?”

Nikolai rubs at his beard.

“No, but maybe I can be of help. Let me meet her.”

He follows Vitaly out to the main office where a petite middle-aged woman with a long silver braid and dark eyes is waiting impatiently. She looks familiar for some reason that he cannot place.

“Nadezhda Vasilyeva, welcome, again. This is Nikolai Gregorivich, he worked here for many years and now comes in as a part time consultant.”

They shake hands and walk to sit in Vitaly’s cubicle.

“Vitaly tells me you are looking for information on your son?”

“Yes. All I want to know is his name and that he’s alive. I don’t even need to meet him, if he’s happy I wouldn’t want to disrupt his life. I just need to know he’s really out there. I always believed he was, but…” She grips her purse tightly in her lap.

Nikolai sighs.

“You know that we cannot give you any information without your sons permission.”

“Yes, but I need to know, _he_ needs to know that I’m here, and…”

“Why now?” Nikolai interrupts. “Why do you decide that you want him now, when he is grown and has learned to live his life without you?”

Nadezhda Vasilyeva takes a moment to respond.

“I always wanted him. The day I found out I was pregnant meant the end of my career and I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy.” She takes a breath. “I waited nearly thirty years just to find out he was born _alive_. My father he… he was disappointed that the work we’d put towards my career was going to waste in his eyes. My son was taken away from me before I ever met him. I don’t have to meet him now, we have lived without each other so far, but I just want him to know that he was always wanted and loved. I want to know that he is happy. That’s all I want.”

Nikolai sits back in his chair, considering her. She is clearly trying to control her emotions, staring determinedly out the window, where it has started to snow again.

“Okay, Miss Vasilyeva. I believe you are doing this for good reasons. I will help and see what I can do.”

She slumps in her chair in relief.

“Thank you. They have all the information here that I know of.”

“Of course.” Nikolai takes one of Vitaly’s business cards and scribbles his name and phone number onto the back. “Here, this is my phone number. I will call you if I get more information that I can share, and you can call me with questions or information that you have. Stop with all this travel, you will hurt your back and your bank account.”

Nadezhda Vasilyeva takes the card and tucks it carefully into her purse.

“I cannot thank you enough, Nikolai Gregorivich.”

“Travel safe back to Paris.”

“The studio will be glad to have me back.”

“Studio?”

“Yes, I teach ballet. I was a dancer. I look forward to your call.”

Nikolai waves his goodbyes and contemplates the conundrum for a long moment before going to find Vitaly and get all the information they have so far.

/

[2017 – Viktor]

Viktor is twenty-eight and knows this is his last competition, can feel it as a shift in the air and the ache in his bones, moving him forward. Two years ago, he would have dreaded this day like his own funeral, but now he feels at peace. He lets his eyes linger on where Yuuri is warming up- he glances over at him warmly before being lost in his own world again- and sits up from his own stretches as they are called for the on-ice warm-up.

His hastily assembled short program compliments his long program[2] perfectly, and he’s proud of them even with the limited time. Viktor manages to scrape ahead of Yuuri in the short by a few tenths of a point, and the conflict of pride and disappointment on Yuuri’s face is almost comical. He hugs him tight, chuckling.

“The free is where it really matters, right?”

His smile only widens when Yuuri tucks his face under his chin to hide his laughter.

Viktor draws last in the free, with Yuuri right ahead of him. He sends his love off to the middle of the ice with a kiss and watches proudly as Yuuri brings the program they’ve made together.

The moment Yuuri finishes Viktor knows he won’t be able to win.

Yuuri takes his bows as the crowd roars and then he skates over to where Viktor waits by the gate. As they pass, Yuuri hugs him tightly.

Viktor does a few warmup loops as they calculate the scores, but he doesn’t listen, just watches for Yuuri’s reaction. He ignores the number that is announced and pops up on the big screen, just watches the stunned look on Yuuri’s face and blows him a kiss. Then he greets the crowd and takes his starting pose.

As he comes out of his final spin and strikes his last pose it hits him all at once.

He can barely hold the pose for more than a moment before collapsing down to the ice, overwhelmed. He’s dimly aware of the crowd cheering, of the wetness on his face from sweat and tears, of the chill sinking through his costume, and of the dull ache in his body as he catches his breath.

If this were a movie, he thinks wildly, when he looked over to the gate, he would see his parents there. But they aren’t, and he hauls himself back up to take his bows, smiling widely, genuinely. Yuuri is waiting for him at the gate, matching tears on his face. Viktor barely prevents himself from slamming into him as he comes off the ice, instead gripping his shoulders a bit too tight as they hug.

/

Yuuri wins, smashing the record for total score, and Viktor takes a respectable silver. He’s never been so happy to be in second place before.

/

His final official exhibition is a song[3] he’d heard before, on a random cd of Georgi’s when they were young and Georgi was obsessed with musical theater. It’s a different singer for his program, but he skates it with joy and sorrow. This is the last time, the last goodbye he gets to give to everyone who has supported him in his career. This is a program he skates for himself. He winks and smiles towards where he knows Yuuri is standing on the last line before his ending spin. _and_ _we won't wait to say good-bye, my beautiful young man and I!_

//

[March, 2017 – Nikolai]

“Grandpa, you made it!”

Nikolai finds his arms full of spindly grandson as the other travelers pass them by in the airport.

“Of course, Yurachka, good job at Worlds. Now is time for a rest.”

Yuri looks like he’d be offended, but the expression gets caught in a big yawn. Nikolai ruffles his hair.

A few other members of the Russian team trickle through to the baggage claim, all similarly bleary-eyed and travel worn. One of the men- Katsuki, Nikolai thinks, the skater that Yurachka like so much- walks over towards them. He asks Yuri something in English and Yuri nods. Katsuki smiles at Nikolai.

“Thank you for the katsudon pirozhki for my birthday.” He says to Nikolai, in Russian, with a bow.

Nikolai waves him off.

“No problem for a friend of Yuri’s.”

“Yuuuuri, I found you.” Viktor Nikiforov suddenly appears behind the other two skaters, draping himself over Katsuki’s shoulders. “Oh, Yurio, is this your grandpa?”

Yuri sighs.

“Yes, this is my grandpa.”

Nikolai nudges his arm.

“Proper introductions, Yuri.”

Yuri sighs again.

“Viktor, Yuuri, this is my grandpa, Nikolai Gregorivich. Grandpa, this is Viktor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” Katsuki says.

Viktor says nothing, staring in shock at Nikolai. It only takes Nikolai a moment to place the now much older Viktor Neizvestny. He looks at Viktor to gauge how much the others know and decides.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Yuuri Katsuki, Viktor Nikiforov.”

Viktor relaxes and smiles at him. They exchange pleasantries for a few moments before the exhaustion catches up to the skaters and they say their goodbyes. Katsuki and Viktor have a connecting flight to Piter in half an hour and Nikolai and Yuri need to make it back to the city proper.

Yuri falls asleep in the car on the drive to Nikolai’s apartment, his head cushioned against the window by his hood. He is too big for Nikolai to carry him up the stairs to bed anymore, but he still tucks his sleepy grandson into bed.

/

“Grandpa, why do we have to go to your office?” Yuri groans as Nikolai parks.

“I just need to check something, it’ll only take a few minutes, Yura. You come or you stay in the car.”

Yuri slouches down in his seat and pulls out his phone.

“I’ll wait.”

Nikolai lets himself into the building and heads back to the archived files. Even with the change to technology in the last couple decades, many of the older files haven’t been converted, just stored in the same old file cabinets that Nikolai spent nearly all of his career using. He knows where to look. It takes digging through a few cabinets before he finds the drawer he needs. Hastily he flips through until he reaches “Н”.

Thankfully it seems as though his files were put away by someone competent, and they are actually filed in order. He finally reaches the name he was looking for and pulls out the file.

There’re a few small pictures of a young Viktor Neizvestny at various ages- Nikolai remembers taking at least one of them, after a long argument where Viktor refused to smile or look anything close to agreeable for potential families.

The most recent paperwork in the file is the court documents showing Viktor’s change of name and aging out of the system, a decade ago now. The picture attached looks to be the one that the RFKK had used for id badges at the time. Viktor is eighteen and long haired, staring blandly into the camera.

“Well, Viktor Nikiforov, you certainly have made something of yourself then, huh.” Nikolai says.

He looks back and finds the information he’d been in search of, walking slowly to his desk. Flipping to the copy of Viktor’s birth certificate, he pulls the copy of the documents Nadezhda Vasilyeva had given them.

As he thought, the only difference is that one bears a name and the other does not.

/

[later March, 2017]

Nadya is at the studio resetting after the last classes of the evening when there’s a knock on the door.

“Enter!”

“Nadya?”

She looks up and smiles.

“Zvezda!” She embraces her friend and former roommate before gesturing to seats. “It’s been a while. How are you?”

“Doing well! I want to catch up, but today I’m calling on business. There’s a performance my charity is hosting during the White Nights…”

Nadya frowns.

“You know I don’t dance anymore.”

“Would you listen? This performance is for charity and to celebrate great performers of our times. Here.” She holds out a poster, shaking it pointedly when it isn’t taken. Nadya takes it with a sigh. “We have a lineup of artists from all kinds of different areas, for maximum appeal to donors. Musicians, dancers, even some athletes and celebrities.”

Nadya taps the paper, looking it over. Zvezda sighs.

“Would you at least consider it? There’s no pressure, it could be a performance you could just have fun with, and you have a couple months to prepare. But you could help raise a lot of money- you still have many fans out there.”

Nadya smiles wanly at her. Zvezda reaches out and squeezes her hand. Nadya squeezes back.

“Can you give me a couple weeks to think?”

“Of course. And you know that I’m a fan and your friend no matter what you decide.”

They make plans to meet up properly in a few weeks when they both have a free afternoon before Zvezda departs with a wave.

Nadya looks at the poster sitting on the piano for a long moment.

Then she shakes her head with a sigh, crumples it up, and throws it in the trash on her way out of the studio for the day.

/

[April, 2017 – Yuuri]

Yuuri gets back to the apartment first, finding only Makkachin sleepily lifting a curly head to peek at him before going back to sleep. He puts his rink bag in the closet and checks his phone. He has several texts from Viktor that contains a lot of sad face emojis and several iterations of FFKK in increasingly creative combinations. Yuuri snorts, sends his sympathy and a selfie of himself and Makkachin (which earns the response of ‘Yuuuuuri (((((((‘).

Yuuri showers and walk back out to the kitchen to find several plastic bins full of back-dated mail that must have been delivered earlier sitting on the kitchen island. Yuuri sighs as he shoves them to the side to make room for his mug of tea and plate of microwaved take-out. The one on the end teeters precariously and Yuuri lunges across the island to grab the side of the bin before it tips off and send mail everywhere. The bin doesn’t fall, but it does dump it’s top layer of bundled mail onto the floor with an unceremonious plop. Yuuri curses softly under his breath as he slides off the stool to gather up the wayward papers.

He shoves them back on top of the bins before finishing his meal. Yuuri stares at the bins for a long moment before sighing and grabbing one to dump out on the floor of the living room. Viktor will have to go through all of this later anyway, he might as well get a head start on filtering out the junk mail while Viktor is stuck in his meeting. Yuuri finds a rhythm to sorting through the papers- magazines here, junk mail here, letters here, bills here, unsure here- and he finishes the first bin surprisingly quickly. He dumps the junk into the trash and lugs the second bin over to start again. He adds two copies of Vogue to the magazine pile when he comes across a letter in a large official looking envelope.

‘Important Information Enclosed from the Ministry of Education and Science of the Russian Federation’ is stamped across it and Yuuri hesitates opening Viktor’s mail, but if it’s government information then Viktor should know about it. What would the Ministry of Education and Science want with Viktor anyway? His curiosity gets the better of him and he opens the letter.

“Dear Mr. Nikiforov,

This letter is to notify you that there has been a request processed for access into your adoption information, both identifying information and non-identifying information. To grant access for this request or get further information, please go to the following…”

Yuuri blinks down at the letter. Who would be prying into Viktor’s adoption records?

His musings are interrupted by the jangling of keys in the door and Viktor’s subsequent arrival. He beams and immediately walks over to greet Yuuri with a kiss and Makkachin with a scratch behind the ears.

“Hey, Vitya, look at this.”

Viktor takes the letter from Yuuri and skims it before pulling a face.

“I get one of these every few years, if any of my information matches part of whatever someone is looking for. It’s… the only one I ever gave identifying information too I eventually had to get a restraining order for.” He says it casually, but Yuuri stands and pulls him into a hug anyway.

“Sorry it was such a let-down.”

“Yeah. I’ll let them send out non-identifying stuff, but beyond that I’ll just leave it be.”

“Okay.”

Viktor yawns and shuffles off to get ready for bed. Yuuri tosses the letter in the junk pile after a long moment of hesitation. 

/

Viktor had decided to do a farewell show almost before he’d decided to retire. He’d been absently planning it for years, just in case the worst happened (thankfully it hadn’t) and now it was time to put it together. Chris had already agreed to perform, along with some other retired and current skaters in Russia and Europe that Viktor had been friendly with, and Yuuri of course.

Yuuri is sitting on the sofa, absently scrolling through his phone when Viktor flops down across his lap. Yuuri merely lets out a quiet grunt and shove Viktor to lay more comfortably without looking away from his phone. Viktor huffs and sighs dramatically. He can almost feel Yuuri roll his eyes, but his dear fiancé merely starts combing his fingers through his hair.

“What’s wrong, Vitya?”

“I’m stuck on a program for the tour.”

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something great, you’ve already come up with, like, four programs. You can take a break.”

“Mmm.”

Viktor rolls over and wriggles down the sofa until his head rests comfortably in Yuuri’s lap. Yuuri sets his phone down finally and gives Viktor a fondly exasperated look.

“Hmmm, you’ve done your own choreo for so long, what if you got someone else to?”

“Like who, my Yuuri?”

“Uh, if you could get choreography from anyone in the world, who would it be?”

“You.” Viktor says immediately. Yuuri snorts.

“A real answer, Vitya.”

“That is a real-“

“Anyone who isn’t me.”

Viktor pouts, then thinks. Yuuri absently combs his fingers through his hair as he waits.

“There was this dancer.” He says slowly. “I used to love her, I wore out an old tape of her performing Swan Lake. She was a younger dancer, after Lilia. You could really _feel_ everything in her performances.”

“Did you ever try and contact her?”

“No, sadly she retired and all but vanished from dance shortly before I was born. I think she teaches in Paris, but it’s been a while since I’ve looked.”

“Hmm, maybe she could be your inspiration, if nothing else.”

“Yeah, that’s not a bad idea.”

“What’s her name?”

Viktor thinks for a moment before snapping his fingers.

“Nadezhda Vasilyeva.”

/

[April, 2017]

Viktor has meetings with some important sponsors in Moscow to discuss what will happen with his contract in his retired career, so he and Yuuri decide to make it a week-long trip. (Makkachin stays the week with Mila, to both parties delight.) Viktor insists on coming up with a list of things to go and see while they are there and is excited to play tour guide in another city.

Yurio will also be in the city, it turns out, spending a few weeks back home with his grandfather. He grumbles about it, but invites Yuuri to join him for practice sessions while he’s in town.

(“Only you, Katsudon, don’t bring your boyfriend!”

“I’m his fiancé, Yurio!”

“Whatever! I didn’t invite _you_!”)

One afternoon, while Viktor is stuck in meetings for the afternoon, Yurio invites Yuuri over to his grandpa’s for lunch.

(“Don’t be stupid, come to dedushka’s for lunch. You’d probably get lost or something without me.”

“Yurio, I speak perfectly fine Russi-“

“Let’s go, we shouldn’t be late, don’t be fucking rude to my grandpa.”)

The outside of the apartment building is grey and grim, but inside Mr. Plisetsky’s apartment is decorated colorfully and cozily. The windows are open to let the spring breeze in as they eat cabbage soup and black bread. They chat about the upcoming season and Nikolai is curious about life in Japan.

“I don’t know if we’ll have time to visit this summer, what with getting ready for the fall and Viktor’s farewell show.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me, I still have to run my programs by him for approval. Apparently, I don’t choose ‘family friendly’ music.” Yurio groans.

“If it makes you feel any better, Viktor is still stuck on some programs too. He’s in the middle of one inspired by this ballet dancer he used to admire, Nadezhda someone. She was a big inspiration for some of his junior programs apparently.”

“Nadezhda Vasilyeva?” Nikolai asks, sounding surprised.

“Yes, that’s her! Thanks.”

Nikolai’s eyebrows jump up, and he huffs out a laugh. Yuuri’s phone pings and Yurio starts talking to his grandfather about something else.

- _They’ve signed me on for a charity performance back in Piter in summer right when we thought about going back home_ (((

Yuuri snorts.

- _You love those performances._

- _Yes, yes, but I can hear your onsen calling my name with great longing. I am leaving it lonely, my Yuuri. Perform one of our duets with me?_

_-Of course. ^.^_

_-yayyyyy_

Yuuri helps Yurio and Nikolai clean up after tea. Nikolai tells him of some lesser known places to visit in the city and Yuuri notes them down to share with Viktor.

/

[April 2017, Paris]

Nadya arrives early to the café and seats herself in a corner away from the bustle. She places her order for tea for two and sits back to wait.

“Madame Vasilyeva?”

She looks up to find a familiar young man.

“Masumi!” She rose with a smile to greet him.

Masumi Lang had been a student at her studio for years before ice dance had finally pulled him away from the ballet world. He’d stayed in touch and regularly consulted her during his newest career as a choreographer.

They exchange kisses and Masumi gestures his companion forward.

“Madame, this is my dear Christophe I’ve mentioned.”

The tall blond steps forward with a wink and kisses her hand.

“Charmed to meet you, Madame Nadya.”

She chuckles.

“Yes, I do remember you saying something of he is a big flirt, mm?”

“Only to people who are beautiful and worth flirting with.”

“Which is everyone, of course, of course.”

Masumi laughs and Christophe pouts a little- if she were a younger woman, she might think him terribly handsome and charming. Masumi reaches out and twines their fingers together, Christophe leaning into him easily.

“It was lovely to run into you, Madame. I expect I’ll be calling you soon!”

“Of course, have a lovely time on your visit.”

“We will, we’re visiting my parents for a few days.”

Christophe pulls a face at Nadya behind Masumi’s back and she smothers a laugh. (She remembers Masumi’s parents _quite_ well.) They exchange final farewells and she sits back down.

It’s only a few moments longer before Zvezda appears in a whirl of skirts, perfume, and cheek kisses. They enjoy their coffee and pastries, taking the time to catch up with what their lives have been the last few years. Zvezda has taken a position at the conservatory in addition to playing with the Philharmonie, and delights in teaching the cellists that will one day fill her seat.

“Not too soon, though.” She says with a finger wag. “I have no intention of retiring before absolutely necessary.”

Nadya laughs lightly, but Zvezda’s face falls suddenly.

“Oh, Nadya, I didn’t mean…”

Nayda waves a hand.

“I know what you meant, it’s fine. Our careers took different paths is all.”

They sit quietly for a moment.

“Zvezda, can I tell you something and you won’t find me crazy?”

“Maybe tell me first, then I decide about you being crazy.”

Nadya takes a deep fortifying breath, looks down at her coffee, and tells about her search for her son. She can’t look at her friend until she finishes. There’s a long silence when she’s done and lets it sink in.

“Wow.” Zvezda sits back in her chair. “That is…. Wow, Nadya.”

“I know.” Nadya lets herself relax. “You’re my only friend who knows. I think I have been losing my mind a bit these last few months.”

“I don’t blame you. I hope you find him.”

“Thank you. Oh, I also have had time to think about your show in Piter this summer.”

“Oh?” Zvezda leans forward, trying and failing to keep her hopeful expression contained.

Nadya tries and fails to keep a straight face.

“I’ll do it.”

Zvezda whoops and leaps out of her chair.

“One night! One night only!” Nadya laughs and Zvezda hugs her tightly before sitting back down and beginning to hash out her performance.

/

[April, 2017]

“Have you thought about music for our duet for the charity show? I know it’s only one night, do you want to do something completely new?” Yuuri says over dinner.

Viktor hums thoughtfully.

“I do love some of your programs, love, but I’m thinking something new. Maybe another commission.”

“From who?”

Viktor thinks. A sudden memory of a kind piano player and a much younger Georgi’s starry-eyed expression springs to mind. He smiles.

“I need to call Georgi and see if he remembers a name.”

Yuuri receives an excited text the next day.

_-Nicolas Ivanonich! )))_

_-?_

_-name I was looking for music from_

_-That’s funny, I actually know him he was the piano professor in America that helped Ketty and I create the first version of Yuuri on Ice._

_-!!! Yuuri!!!_

_-lol I’ll text Ketty and see if she has his contact information_

_-u mean u will text Pichit to text Ketty so that she will text you_

_-….maybe. Be home soon._

_-yayyyyyyy_

Yuuri smiles and tucks his phone away as he finishes his cool down. He stops to pick up their dinner order on his way back to the apartment, groaning as he takes the steps up.

“I’m home! With dinner!” He calls, toeing off his shoes in the entryway before stepping into the living room. Viktor sits up from where he’d been laying on the couch, phone in hand.

“Yuuri!”

Yuuri sets their bag of food on the counter before coming over and giving Viktor an obliging kiss over the back of the couch. A tinny wolf whistle comes from Viktor’s phone. Yuuri rolls his eyes.

“Hi Christophe.”

“Hello Yuuri!” Christophe grins and waves to him from the screen. “Viktor was just moaning to be about not being able to choreograph twenty million programs at once.”

“I was not….”

“Okay, okay, complaining about not being able to get in touch with the choreographer he wants to work with.”

“Oh, she hasn’t responded yet?” Yuuri asks, gently carding his fingers through the short hair on Viktor’s scalp. Viktor hums contentedly before responding.

“No, not yet. _Apparently,_ she has other projects right now that are more important than collaborating with one of Russia’s national treasures.”

“And what choreographer has the talent to make you want to work with them? I can’t recall the last time you used a choreographer for more than consultation.” Christophe asks.

“Mme. Nadezhda Vasilyeva, I have loved her work for a long time.”

Christophe’s bark of laughter makes them both jump. He leans out of the screen momentarily, shouting something in French. A moment later he comes back into view, along with Masumi looking over his shoulder.

“Viktor is looking to get in touch with a Mme. Vasilyeva, my dearest.” Christophe drawls, switching to French as he speaks with his partner.

Masumi laughs too. Viktor frowns and Yuuri stares in bewilderment.

“Christophe, what…” Viktor starts.

“It’s just funny that you mention it.” Masumi says “We just saw her the other week. She was my old ballet teacher.”

Viktor’s frown vanishes and he leans forward eagerly.

“Can you get in contact with her for me?”

“Sure, what reason should I give her?”

“I’m hoping to get some choreography to use in a charity show in St. Petersburg this summer and my farewell show.”

Masumi taps away on his phone.

“Okay, I’ll give her your information so she can get in touch. Let me know if it works out!”

“Thank you very much, Masumi!”

Viktor looks up when Yuuri taps his shoulder, an amused expression on his face.

“Care to fill me in?”

“Oh! Christophe’s Masumi was a student of Mme. Vasilyeva and he’s helping me contact her.”

Yuuri laughs then as well. They say their farewells to Christophe and Masumi before Viktor tugs Yuuri down into a hug, tangled together on the couch.

“It seems like everything is coming together, huh Vitya?” Yuuri says as he settles into his fiancé’s arms. Viktor smiles into the top of Yuuri’s head.

“I hope so, my Yuuri.”

/

[May, 2017, Michigan]

Nikolas’s computer chirps with an email alert as he sends his last student of the day on their way. He opens it to find an email from a Yuuri Katsuki. He can’t recall why the name sounds familiar.

_Hi Dr. P,_

_This is Yuuri Katsuki, I’m a friend of your old student Kerry- she wrote a piece for me to use in my figure skating competitions? She gave me your email._

Nikolas snaps his fingers as he places the name to a face finally.

_I’m contacting you on behalf of my fiancé actually- his name is Viktor Nikiforov and he’s a figure skater as well, kind of a legend in the sport! But he told me that you two actually met when he was around fourteen at an ice show you were playing for with your old band? He remembered you playing for him and his friend Georgi to skate to and he’s interested in seeing if you’d be available for him to commission a piece of music that he could use for a program in some shows this summer._

_The main one is for a charity performance during the White Nights Festival this summer. I know it’s a little short notice, but if you’d be able to write something or give us some recommendations that would be great!_

_Thank you,_

_Y.K._

Nikolas searches for a picture of the named fiancé and finds an image of a silvery-blond man in various ice-skating costumes. There is a familiarity to him, so Nicolas figures he must be telling the truth about meeting him years ago.

Viktor’s pale hair and his wanting a piece for this particular celebration makes his mind wander to a piece he’d written years ago. The pain in his chest it had used to illicit has long since faded to a manageable ache. This would be a fitting farewell, if he were to give it up now.

_Yuuri,_

_I’m very glad to hear from you! Hope that all is going well. I might have a perfect piece for you…._

/

[St. Petersburg, June, 2017]

“This next piece is very special, choreographed and performed by the legendary Nadezhda Vasilyeva!” The audience cheers and applauds, faintly muffled behind the fabric. “This piece is about losing and finding[4], please welcome to the stage Mme. Nadezhda Vasilyeva!”

She takes a deep breath.

Then muscle memory takes over and she steps out from behind the curtains with a broad smile, arms extended as she greets the audience before taking her beginning stance.

The piece floats, carrying the longing she puts into her extensions. It is not an elaborate piece, but it carries what she is feeling. It is a relief to take the longing and sorrow she’s been carrying these many months and put it into her body, let the muscle and sinew of herself take it and absorb it and leave it on the stage.

The roar of applause is almost a shock as the piano fades away and she holds her ending pose, arms draped in a loose embrace around her own shoulders. She smiles again, emotion filling her. She curtsies and exits to stage right.

Nadya doesn’t return for an encore bow, quickly doing some rudimentary stretches before grabbing her coat and scarf and leaving the building.

She meets the car she’d prearranged for and allows herself to relax for the fifteen minutes of travel. She’d done it. Performed for the public.

She gets out and hurries to the steps of the Yubileynyy Ice Palace. The show has started, she checks her phone, nearly an hour ago. The skater she’d sent choreography too had said that he’d be near the end, so she hops she hasn’t missed his performance.

An usher stops her at the door.

“Tickets please?”

“Oh, I’m just here for one part? I’m the choreographer for Viktor Nikiforov?”

The usher’s eyebrows jump up.

“Do you have any sort of official identification?”

“Oh, no I...”

"Nadya! So glad you made it, you're just in time." Nikolai Plisetsky's weathered face appears behind the usher. He waves a badge and the usher sighs and steps aside. "She's with me, I can show you where to go."

Nadya follows Nikolai down and around, listening at the crowd cheers and applauds the performers.

“Here we are.”

They walk through a door, down a short hall, and then are nearly overwhelmed by the sudden sound and light in the rink. A small redheaded skater is finishing a routine to an energitic song, the audience whooping and clapping as she strikes a final pose.

Nikolai gestures to where she can stand and watch on the edge of the ice beside a low stage. She thanks him and he leans in to be heard.

"You should look at the next skater carefully. He's one of Russia's best, but since he's nearly thirty he's finally retired. Helps train my grandson." He pats her on the shoulder before moving to head back to his seat.

The large screens change color as the small skater leaves the ice. A spotlight shines on a baby grand piano on the stage.

 _Next_ , text on the screen lighting up, _Viktor Nikiforov, performing Fantasy on a White Night (for Nadya), composed by Nikolas Paninovich._

Nadya’s breath catches. She hadn’t asked for the title of the piece when Viktor had sent it to her. A gentle hand touches her back.

“Excuse me.”

A man in a suit slides past her, giving her a grateful smile. He has a full beard that obscures the smile a bit, but his kind blue eyes crinkle at the corners before suddenly going wide.

Nadya reaches out as he grabs her hand, pressing a frantic, gentle kiss to her fingers.

“Please be here when I finish.” He breathes, before turning and hurrying onto the stage.

Nadya stares after him for a long moment as she watches him settle onto the piano bench. Then the lights come up on the ice. The skater, Viktor, in the center is still, waiting for his cue.

His head is ducked, silvery hair blocking his face to Nadya. His costume is simpler than many she’s seen- the standard black pants and skates, with a long dark jacket buttoned over it. He would blend in with any crowd in the city.

The music begins softly, wandering out from the keys. The skater makes small meandering circles, occasionally looking around as if waiting for someone. The music picks up speed, finding a theme to wander around. Viktor gains momentum as well, adding in more steps and some small jumps.

Suddenly, another skater with dark hair and a long red silk scarf crosses the ice. They cross paths with Viktor, a hand reaching out to gently stroke his jaw before vanishing back out into the unlit edges of the rink.

The piano sound a high chord, struck, hanging in the air as Viktor stops in center ice, staring after the other skater, red scarf left behind in his hands. The expression on his face is achingly familiar for a reason Nadya cannot place.

He makes a move as if to follow, but halts. Frustration seems to overcome him, and he suddenly tears away the heavy jacket to reveal a romantic billowy white shirt, with delicate black and silver embroidery around his throat, waist, and wrists. The piano bursts into joyfully energetic motion as Viktor flies around the rink, smiling.

His feet flash so quickly that Nadya feels breathless herself. He falls to his knees in a dramatic spin, only to be caught in the arms of the other skater.

Another man, Nadya sees now, who has also changed outfits to match. His billowy shirt a deep red, with white and gold embroidery. He and Viktor take hands, skating together now as the piano mellows out. The joyous energy from before softened into something warm and familiar.

The music softens even more, pulling back to bring the wandering from the beginning into the new warm happiness for an almost melancholy. The two skaters pull each other into a joint spin with clasped hands and wide grins, slowly pulling each other upwards until they stand with their heads pressed together, in their own world as the music fades out in one long bright chord.

Nadya claps hard, only realizing that she’d begun to cry when it drips from her chin. The two skaters take their bows after Nikolas takes his and ducks down off the stage.

There is a moment where both the skaters and Nikolas turn to face her side of the rink, smiling widely at the applause. In it, Nadya suddenly gasps, the sound lost among the crowd. For a moment, she stares at two matching sets of blue eyes and wide smiles. Her own silvery hair and fair coloring.

She can feel Nikolas take her hand again, feeling the weight of him staring at her with wonder. She cannot look at him, simply staring at the man named Viktor Nikiforov.

The tears will not stop, even as she smiles so hard her cheeks ache. From a distance she can feel her own fingers clutching tightly to Nikolas’s. He is close enough that she can feel as his head turns to follow her eyesight, then quickly back and forth before he inhales sharply. He almost pulls away, but she holds him closer, grabbing around his waist.

“Oh, he has your eyes. I’d hoped he would.” She manages. She can feel him go a bit slack in her arms.

“My God.” He says faintly.

Viktor looks over along the boards and she can tell the moment he sees them. His face goes slack in surprise, then he suddenly leaves the side of the other skater, speeding across the ice to the exit. The other skater looks around apparently befuddled before following after him.

Nadya pulls Nikolas with her, watching as Viktor sprints around the outside of the rink.

They meet in the middle, coming to an abrupt half, staring at each other. Nadya reaches out a shaky hand to cup his cheek. Viktor covers it with his own, also reaching out to grip Nikolas’s free hand, eyes darting between the two of them as if greedy for the sight.

“My son.” Nadya says, voice cracking.

“I knew you’d find me.” Viktor says, before bursting into tears as he is pulled into a four-armed hug.

(They are both delighted meeting Yuuri. It takes a few weeks for the emotional dust and DNA test results to settle, but Nadya takes Yuuri aside before dinner one night.

“Thank you,” she says seriously. “for being his family, especially while we could not.”

Viktor fusses over Yuuri’s red-rimmed eyes over dinner until he’s shooed away, then mollified with hand holding.)

fin.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

[1] Arabesque No. 1, Debussy

[2] Dvorak – Life and Love Trilogy, using cuts of mvmnt 1. Life and mvmnt 2. Love for the short and long respectively.

[3] Meadowlark, from The Bakers Wife. Orig. sung by Patti Lupone, Viktor uses Andrew Rannells MisCast version.

[4] Nocturne in F Minor, La Separation, Mikhail Glinka


End file.
